I fucked up.
Ryah being my partner should mean she can come to me about anything, big or small. Instead she turned away from me and dealt with her fears about Tanno by herself. She was terrified by herself.
What does she see when she looks at me? Ringmaster, sure. I hoped she saw me as a friend. I grimace as I remember my “you do know I’m your boss” comment. She hit a nerve with the knife-throwing and I’m kicking myself now. If I want her to trust me then I need to sort myself out, but how can I expect that when she doesn’t really know me?
I wrest all the knives from the tree and shove them into their holsters. Tonight, the past feels too close. I scrub a tired hand over my face and go to bed.
November finally ends, and good riddance. But December? December is magical. We set up in a market town a few miles west of Crewe, just south of Liverpool and Manchester, and perform matinees every day, mostly for schoolchildren. The big top is packed and merry. The early shows get everyone going early, so we’re warm most of the day and we have the evenings to ourselves to sit by the fire, hole up in our wagons with a hot water bottle or eat in the pub.
Three weeks later we’re skirting the Peak District, a landscape of wild, treeless hills thick with heather. Villages of stone cottages sit clustered by icy streams, and late afternoon sun turns the hills purple and gold.
We’ve had excellent shows all week. At sundown, just after three in the afternoon, Ryah and I are tending to the horses and giving them all a damn good curry comb and picking stones and dirt out of their hooves.
“Where are we going next?” she asks me, combing tangles from Jareth’s mane.
“Next, it’s Christmas, and we’re all going home. My parents have a farm just south of Huddersfield, and that’s where the wagons and horses will winter until February. I’m dying for my mother’s Yorkshire pudding and roast beef.”
I notice that Ryah’s stopped combing and turned chalk white.
“Ryah?”
Then it clicks. I said everyone’s going home. She thinks I’m going to send her back to her drunken, abusive father. “Ryah, you’re coming with me. Of course you’re coming with me.”
She breathes a hard sigh of relief and blinks several times.
I go to her and clasp her upper arms, ducking my head so I can look in her eyes. “I should have explained it better. The crew and performers who have homes and families go to them, and everyone else comes with me.”
It’s my favorite time of year, not just because it’s Christmas and I get to see my parents. There are always ten or so circus people with me, and we’re relaxed because we don’t have to perform for a whole month. There’s time to read, work on new skills for the coming season, or just do nothing. There’s lots of laughter and silliness, and proper conversations with people whom I see every day and yet rarely have time to sit down with. This year I’m looking forward to it especially, because this year I’m taking Ryah with me.
“There are lots of places to ride around the farm, and you’ll have a proper bed to sleep in, and real hot showers. Dinner at a proper dinner table.”
A few tears have trickled down Ryah face, and she forces a smile and wipes them away. “You know I don’t miss any of that. I like eating from tin plates on my lap, because it means I get to be here with you all.”
“I know. But it’s nice for a treat. Come here.” I fold Ryah in a hug, wishing I hadn’t spoken so thoughtlessly and upset her. Her arms wrap around my neck and I slide my fingers into her hair as I hold her against me, enjoying the feel of the silken strands.
“My mother’s going to love having you around,” I murmur against her temple. “She always says I bring too many men.”
“It sounds wonderful. I don’t mind the cold, though I was nervous about spending January in the wagon. January means snow, usually.”
“We’ll make it a happy month on the farm. You’ll see.”
I pull away and stroke her hair back, peering down at her. I thought by now that my protectiveness toward Ryah might have settled down, but it only seems to grow day by day. Every night during the show we look each other in the eyes, knowing she’s putting her life in my hands. I can’t help but be protective of her. What a terrible place the circus would be if Ryah wasn’t here. What a terrible place the world would be.
“Can you promise me something? If someone scares you, can you tell me right away?”
She sucks in a shuddering breath. “You were mad I didn’t come to you about Tanno. I thought you were.”
I shake my head and stroke my hand through her hair again, loving the feel of the silken strands running between my fingers. “Not mad. I should have been clearer. If anyone makes you feel like that, I want to know. It matters to me.”
Ryah watches me, her big blue eyes filled with uncertainty. “Won’t that cause you trouble?”
“It’s never trouble knowing you’re safe.”
A smile breaks over her face. She’s so near. A few inches to close the gap and leap a huge chasm to find out what’s on the other side. The urge to do something transgressive and make her mine is almost overwhelming.
The silence stretches between us, taut and fiery. Her eyes caress my face.
“Cale? What are you thinking about?”
Lowering my lips to yours and kissing you.
I clear my throat and step back. “Just all the things that need to be done before we reach the farm. And I meant what I said. You can tell me about anything that’s worrying you, okay?”
“Okay.” Her smile is sweet and innocent as we disentangle from each other and go back to the horses.
“You know,” Ryah says as we work, “I’ve seen more of England in the last six months that I have in my entire life. Now we’re going further north than I’ve ever been before. I feel like I don’t say thank you enough to you, Cale. For all that I’ve seen and done this year.”
I smile to myself as I rearrange Jareth’s turnout rug. “You don’t need to say thank you.”
“Maybe. But I want to, just the same.”
As I move past her for another rug, my fingers brush hers. I give them a squeeze. “You’re welcome, sparkle.”
Anything for you.
Chapter Seventeen
Ryah
Most of the company prepares to depart for their homes two days later. We see them off from the campfire on a freezing Tuesday morning, exchanging hugs and the rendezvous point and date a month from now.
Anouk and I hug Elke fiercely, who’s headed home to Shrewsbury near the border with Wales.
“I’ll be tucked up in a warm bed tonight, full of my mother’s vegetable and leek pie,” Elke says, smiling through tears, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself that she really does want to leave us.
“You’ll have a wonderful time,” Anouk tells her.
All around us I can hear others saying similarly consoling words to the departing members of the circus, as if they’re all about to suffer some terrible ordeal. Finally, they finish their goodbyes and turn and head up the hill to the train station.
“Do you feel sorry for them?” I ask Anouk as we wave and wave, our arms growing tired. “Even though we’ve got a long, cold ride today and will have plenty of chores between now and the end of January?”